A significant turning point in anyone's life: the possession of furniture that's neither a hand-me-down nor street furniture, and that you'll move with you because of its material value to you, and not because it's the only one you've got right now.

You can fuck your way through college on the bed in which your Aunt Jennie was conceived; eat off a table that was sitting on a corner on the 2nd of the month, after everyone moved; store your books and CDs in what would otherwise be industrial refuse. But at some point, you actually buy it yourself, and realise that it's not disposable, and that you are no longer a body and a duffle bag. Now you're a body and at least a small U-Haul of stuff with which you won't part.